


A Pinch Too Much Salt

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Baking, Crack, Gen, Implied Relationships, gingerbread men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos is baking gingerbread men.  This smells like danger.</p><p> </p><p>Crack!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pinch Too Much Salt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Eva! For her annual Highlander Holiday story gift.

Methos set the timer and went to the couch to put his feet up.

The gingerbread men would be done in eight, maybe ten, minutes. He glanced back at the pile of dishes he’d left in the sink and grinned. Duncan would probably clean them up once he got home. He was good like that.

He put his head on the back cushion of the couch and rested, eyes closed, waiting for the timer to announce the cookies were done. It felt good to rest. He’d been up early to spar with Duncan, and had been busy working on the cookie dough since coming back to the loft.

Gingerbread was one of the few nostalgic fancies that he allowed himself, although he didn’t indulge very often. He had a very long memory of various recipes over the centuries, all similar and dissimilar in uncountable ways. Ginger had been imported, or exported, for a very long time. And the distinctive flavor of treacle, or molasses, or whatever it was called these days, always made him feel decadent. The gingerbread man had developed much later, but he’d always had a particular fondness for it. Something about it just seemed whimsical, and he liked it.

Plus, there had been that children’s story. Run, run, as fast as you can. He smirked. He would be the fox that got to eat the cookie, as well as the old man who baked it. You can’t catch me, Methos thought. It was hard to get the rhyme out of one’s head, once it was in….

“Oh, really! You think to eat me?”

Methos sat upright, his eyes popping open.

There was a six foot tall gingerbread man in the kitchen. He was steaming, as if he’d just crawled out of the oven, and he had an incredibly pissed off expression on his dark gingerbread face. His wrinkled raisin eyes were focused on Methos, and full of hatred.

“Er…hello?” Methos started. “Where did you come from?”

The gingerbread man took a step forward and Methos could see that he wasn’t very thick at all, but slightly puffy, as he’d just been baked. The spicy smell of ginger, cinnamon, allspice, and cloves came off him in warm, enticing waves. Somehow, it also smelled of danger.

“You won’t eat me at all!” the gingerbread man thundered as he took another menacing step forward. “Instead, I’ll eat you!” He reached his arms out toward Methos.

Methos kicked out and rolled neatly over his shoulder on the top edge of the couch so that he was standing up behind it. “How about a compromise? I leave you alone and you leave me alone?” He was desperately trying to remember where he’d left his sword. He thought it might be tucked under the bed.

“Too late! I’m going to gobble you all up!” The gingerbread man stomped forward a few more steps, an expression of retribution and glee all over his cakey features. “Won’t you be delicious!”

Methos decided not to bother answering. It was just a waste of breath. He scuttled backward and started searching for the hilt of his sword under the mattress. He knew he’d left it here.

He felt the moist warmness of the gingerbread man loom over him and he ducked as a stiff gingery arm grabbed at him. Methos rolled out of the way and got to his knees. The gingerbread man turned to leer at him, licking his lips in anticipation. “I’ll dunk you in port. I’ll dunk you in coffee. I’ll dunk you in milk until you drown.”

“Really, now,” Methos said. He turned and ran for the other side of the room. Duncan kept a spare sword over there, he was sure of it.

As he moved, the timer went off. He glanced at the oven. His gingerbread men would just have to bake a little longer while he fended off their warrior champion. Then, in shock, he stumbled briefly as he watched the oven door begin to open by itself. A moment later and dozens of smaller gingerbread men were crawling and leaping from the mouth of the oven.

“Oh, for pities’ sake,” he muttered as he caught his footing and kept going, intent on retrieving that sword. “Can’t a man bake some cookies in peace and quiet?”

“Run, run, as fast as you can!” the little gingerbread men all squeaked at him. Behind them, there was dark smoke pouring out of the oven. There must still be gingerbread men in there, he thought, over-baking. The room began to stink of burned cookies. “But we’ll catch you, we’re the gingerbread men!” The little cookies all began to laugh maniacally.

Methos reached the end of the room and grasped around for Duncan’s spare sword in the bookcase, but it seemed to be missing from its hiding place. Desperately, he turned and realized that the enormous gingerbread man was right on top of him, wearing a grin of triumph. And looking a little bit hungry.

The timer was still going off, like a siren warning him of an imminent bomb raid. The little gingerbread men were all shouting and jumping at him, their little fingerless hands clutching at his clothes. The large, angry gingerbread man leaned down, preparing to take a chomp out of Methos. His mouth was a gaping maw of crackled-brown darkness, smelling of pepper and nutmeg, and--

“What the hell, Methos!”

Methos jerked awake, gasping for air.

Duncan was in the kitchen. He turned off the timer that had been buzzing for an unknown amount of time and then clicked the oven dial to off. The smell of burnt cookies permeated the air, although Methos was glad to note that smoke was not billowing out of the oven door.

Methos pushed out of the couch and hurried to the kitchen as Duncan, using bright orange oven mitts, took the gingerbread men out of the oven. “I don’t think they’re too bad,” he said with a shake of his head. “How did you manage to fall asleep with that timer going off?”

“I don’t know,” Methos said as he looked down at the cookies.

Duncan frowned. “That’s an odd shape you chose to make them.”

“I didn’t,” Methos said, a jittery feeling passing through him. This was a warning that needed no words.

Every single one of the gingerbread men had a bite taken out of their heads.

Methos lifted an eyebrow at Duncan, feeling like a sly fox. “Let’s pour the milk,” he said. “Time to eat.”


End file.
